A Beautiful Lie
by wingsandtragedies
Summary: Phan AU When 18 year-old Dan signed up to be a bone marrow donor, he didn't actually think they'd ever call him. But they did. Warnings: assorted sicknesses, sad stuff, yeah, I don't really have anything to write here. Please ignore all the medical inaccuracies. I suck at all that.
1. Chapter 1

| All the facts presented are a product (thank God) of my imagination.

I don't like hospitals.  
As a matter of fact, I hate them, but I'm here nonetheless, letting them stick needles in my arm and watching as they take my blood.  
It seemed like a good idea at the time; you could save a life, they told me. They might never call you.  
Well, it didn't take long to prove that wrong, but seriously. What are the odds?  
Even though I dislike my current situation, it would be a lie if I said being the only hope for someone doesn't make me happy. It does, it really does, I just wish I knew who this person is.  
Impossible, I know, but apparently we're compatible, which means we've got at least _something _in common. Unfortunately, a little thing called privacy stands in my way and I doubt it will be going anywhere anytime soon.  
This is pretty much why I've given up on trying to find out who I'm donating to- Without even having started. If I stop to think about it, though, it seems awfully unfair.  
I mean, I'm giving away part of myself, why can't I know where it goes?  
While I think things over, a nurse shuffles by my side and removes the needle. She's probably talking to me, while she presses a small piece of cotton to my arm, covering the tiny puncture. I don't hear her.  
To be fair, I've got more important things to think about; like finding my mystery person, for example.  
I have no time to pay attention to the monotonous words she probably tells all the patients who wander in and out of here every day. Take it easy, go slow, eat something.  
Yeah, yeah.  
Whatever.  
The first time I try to get up, I fall back on the chair, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths. However, I have no intention of spending my afternoon in this place and I've already been here too long: I soon force myself up and leave the room hastily, passing by a way-too-long queue of people, all waiting to go through my same ordeal.  
A shrill voice off to the side attracts my attention.  
I soon pinpoint the source of the noise, and realize it's two nurses, leaning together and muttering way too loudly to be discreet.  
«Oh, that _poor _boy! » The older one says, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. I take a step closer. «He's so young…» She trails off and I furrow my brows slightly while trying to seem interested in a pamphlet stuck to a board on the wall. Something about washing your hands to stop the spread of the flu, I think.  
«The transplant will help him.» The other chirps, nodding as if her words were the ultimate truth. I can't help but shuffle just that bit closer to hear the rest, but the conversation dies out before I can find anything else out.  
«Excuse me…» I don't realize it's my voice before it's too late. Both nurses give me a once over and a quizzical look after they've assessed my life is in no immediate danger.  
«Um. » I say. Then I snap out of it, flashing my best grin to the younger one. She has pretty red hair and seems friendly enough to grant me a favor.  
«I didn't mean to be eavesdropping, but could you tell me who you were talking about? » Just that. Like I was stupid enough to actually believe something like that would work. Nice work, Dan. Right on track.  
I can tell by their expressions that I'm not going to be getting an answer out of them anytime soon, so I quickly shake my head. «Sorry. » I mutter. «Forget it. » And with that, I turn to leave.  
I'm actually surprised when she stops me; it's the redhead, the friendly one, and she smiles a little crooked smile, while whispering. «You're the one who's donating, right? We don't get many like you around here. »  
Right. Like they told me, "they'll probably never call you." I must be quite the news around here. Well, anything here is news, actually.  
«This boy…Is he the one I'm compatible with? » I ask, risking the "that's none of your business" speech. But she surprises me once again, leaning in closer.  
«I shouldn't tell you, but yes. He is. »  
For some reason, my heart skips a beat as I stare her straight in the eye. I wasn't expecting it to be so easy, but so hard at the same time. At this point, I just want to see how much I'll be able to get out of her.  
«Oh. » Well, so much for the carefully studied questions, Dan. I shake my head a little.  
«Uh, I mean…» I start again, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. «What's wrong with him? »  
She merely looks down, sighing as if the world is going to end and there's nothing left to do to save it. «I'm sorry. » She answers. «I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't tell you that. »  
I nod. Yeah, sure, it's okay, I understand.  
Privacy, damn privacy. So I leave, giving her only one last, brief look, before heading back home.


	2. Chapter 2

I wonder what is wrong with him.  
I mean, it must be curable, if they're willing to operate on him. Of course, there are quite a few flaws in my reasoning, the first one being: something could always go wrong with the transplant.  
I'm not a doctor, or anything, but even I know that some things are risky, especially when part of someone else's body ends up in yours. In a totally non-sexual way, of course.  
So I finally get my laptop and watch the line flash in the search bar for a while.  
Flash.  
Flash.  
Flash.  
"Bone marrow transplant" is what I finally type, and the results show up less than a second after I place my finger on 'Enter'.  
There's a lot of nasty sounding words, alternated with chemotherapy and cancer.  
Oh.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear_

I twirl the pen between my fingers, absentmindedly. No, that won't do; I have no clue as to what this person's name is, how am I supposed to write a letter to him…Her?  
I sigh, cross the word out, start over.  
_  
__I realize this sounds…Weird and kind of stalkerish._

Yeah. Whatever, Dan. Beautiful way to start a letter.  
_  
__I don't know you. I honestly have no idea who you are, what you look like, if you're a boy or a girl- I know nothing.  
However, I found myself waiting in front of your door and just couldn't bring myself to come in. I suppose it would've been mildly rude, anyways, so I'm glad I didn't pursue that path.  
My name is Dan, and  
__  
_And? Oh, this is going to be the best letter ever, I think, sarcastically, letting out the sigh I have been holding back since I first lay pen to paper.  
Since the results are obviously not satisfactory, I decide it might be better if I take a break. I get up, stretch, lay pen and paper on the plastic hospital chair and go take a look at some of the posters hanging on the walls- Red Cross, first aid and so on. Wash your hands after you sneeze. I wonder how much good that actually does.  
I wonder what I'm going to do with the letter once I finish writing it.  
If I finish writing it.  
I find myself walking back to the chair and falling back down on it.  
Well, at least I was able to find this person. I mean, it was hard, yes, but so worth it. I can't just waste this golden opportunity.  
It's not that hard. I can do this.

_and I just felt like writing to you.  
I don't know if I will come back, or if I will ever get to see you. I don't know why you're here___

I hope I don't, at least.

_but I hope you will get better.  
__  
_I'm about to write something like "please never give up", but that sounds lame. Very, very lame.  
I'm about to sign my name when a woman walks up to me. « Are you here to see him? »  
«Uh. »  
«My son. » She offers, while I quickly scramble to my feet clutching the paper. «Are you here to see him? He would be very pleased. »  
«No, I… » I find myself holding the piece of paper out to here, after having folded it as best I could. «This is for him. » _Him. _  
She doesn't seem weirded out at all. Which is nice.  
«I'll make sure he sees it. » She smiles and I'm gone.  
_Him_, I think, as I walk home. Him.


	4. Chapter 4

A week has passed since the last time I was here.  
Nothing seems to have changed; it still smells like hospital and every sound seems to be muffled by all the white.  
I still don't like it, but it's better now- It feels like I have a reason to be here, a reason to deal with the multitude of people shuffling down the hallway, with the nurses' curious glances in my direction.

They probably think I'm here to visit a relative, oh, poor boy, it's sad that he's here all alone.  
Who am I to tell them it's not true?

I mean, as far as I know, the guy could be a distant relative of mine…Or something like that. Although I'm sure it's safe to say we're not related in any way- I'd know if we were.

I feel like the hallway is never-ending, today, the walls extending on and on, doors and doors on either side, numbers growing progressively.

I suddenly feel like stopping and turning around. Pretending I never even came here.

It's not like anyone would know, right? Nobody's expecting me, after all.

Except I don't. I don't stop. I don't turn around.

His mother is standing at the coffee machine when I get near the room. She gives me a small, tired smile as I approach and I nod in her direction.  
«Good Morning. » She says softly, to which I answer «Hello. »  
I don't add anything on to it, even though I know I should. She doesn't seem to mind, though, and she nods weakly, bending over to fetch her coffee from the machine.

«He's sleeping. » She explains, and I nod, I already figured it out. It's not like I'm just going to tell her that, though. The poor woman is already going through enough as it is, without having to deal with some sassy kid.

When I look back at her, she's stirring the coffee in the little plastic cup, staring down at it and smiling slightly. «He was very happy when I gave him your letter. » She says softly, to which I can't help but smile. He really appreciated it and that makes me extremely happy- Maybe a bit more than what would be considered normal.

«I'm glad. » Is what I say, although it's very, very hard to keep excitement out of my voice. She smiles.

The first thing I think is: this woman smiles a lot.  
«He's doing okay, though. » I blurt out before thinking. «Right? » I could honestly hit my head against the wall because of how stupid that question is, but she doesn't seem to mind too much. «Phil is stronger than he looks. »

And that's it. That is the first time I hear his name and I swear that changes everything: everything suddenly snaps out of that out of focus mode it was in and suddenly I can fill in the blank next to 'Dear'.  
Dear Phil, I start over again in my head.  
I wonder what he thought when his mother handed him the letter.  
I wonder what he looks like.

Does he have many friends? Or any?

With one question answered, another dozen blossom.  
Anyway, today is not the day I am going to be seeing him, that much is clear. «I think I should… » And I do this kind of wavy thing with my hand.  
I think she was hoping I'd keep her company, because her gaze softens and she sighs; she makes up for it with a small smile, though, and that's when I turn and start walking down the hallway once more.  
«Oh. Wait. » A hand reaches out to touch my arm and I stop short, giving her a puzzled look. She doesn't explain, though, and merely shoves a piece of paper in my hand before walking back to the chairs in front of Phil's room.

It takes me a minute to realize what it is and when I do I can't help but grin.

A letter.

From Phil.

I tuck it in the inside of my jacket and don't look at it until I'm back in the safety of my room. Then and only then I carefully pull it out and stare at the white envelope for a while, before finally opening it.  
The first thing I see is in the lower right corner of the page:

_**Love, Phil.**_


	5. Chapter 5

It's Friday and the sun is shining. Leaning out over the window ledge, I wonder if Phil enjoys sunny days, or if he's more of a rainy day/blankets and movie type.  
It's strange how, all of a sudden, everything I see reminds me of Phil. I haven't even seen him yet, nor have I spoken to him directly, but, as cliché as it may sound, I already feel like I've known him for a lifetime.  
I know, I know. So banal.  
All I have are two letters; letters which I have jealously kept to myself as my little secret. Yes, it's strange indeed.  
Three weeks have passed since that time I saw his mother and first returned home with my prize. I went back again the week after that and, once again, delivered my own piece of writing- After a while, I returned to find Phil's answer.  
I still haven't had the courage to go inside his room; I think I'm subconsciously timing my visits for when I know he's asleep or resting, but I can't be sure of that. It all might be a curious coincidence.  
His words are enough for now.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Phil,_

How are you? Isn't it curious how a week seems to go by so slowly since we started exchanging letters?  
Or is it just me?  
_I was so happy when I received your last letter. I hope writing it wasn't too tiring for you- If it was, please do not strain yourself just to make me happy.  
I don't want to be a bother or a burden, and I also know you need your rest.  
You have already told me what music you listen to (I can't believe we like the same bands!) and what you like (although I can't say I love lions as much as you do), so now I would like to know when you're birthday is. Maybe I'll buy you a lion hat or something.  
Do you have any siblings? Do you have any frien  
__  
_

Uh, no. Cross it out. Start over again.

_Would you like me to bring something over the next time I visit?  
I just now realize I have asked a lot of questions, so I will refrain from asking more.  
You asked me if I have anything special I like to do. Nothing in particular, really. There's the internet and then there's you.  
And your letters.  
Maybe next time you won't be resting and I'll come in, say hello.  
I'll leave you alone, now. Rest. _

_Love, Dan_

_PS: I bought a hat yesterday which I think you would like. It's soft and furry like a lion, but not the same colour._


	7. Chapter 7

I worry too much. Phil said so.  
He also said he's getting kind of tired of resting all the time- Which is ironic, if you ask me.  
In his letter, he talked about hospital beds and how they look like normal beds, but are actually sneaky agents of evil. I've never had to sleep in one for so long, so I can only suppose what he says is true.  
I didn't go in the last time I was at the hospital; I almost made it, but then his mother appeared behind me and her eyes were swollen and red from crying. It looked like she'd been crying a lot, even though she did her best to smile and greet me as usual.  
«I was just leaving. » I said. I've always been such an awful liar.

I've been thinking about the upcoming operation lately.  
I'd be lying if I said I'm not scared, but knowing that I'm doing it for Phil makes me feel a little better. It's just that I don't like them sticking needles in me and taking stuff out of my body, that's all. It's fairly reasonable, right?  
I haven't said anything to Phil, although the reason is unknown even to me. I don't want him to think I only write to him because I pity him, maybe that's part of it.


	8. Chapter 8

«Hello. »  
«Hi. »  
He looks worse than I thought, but his smile is enough to make me forget the tubes and machinery surrounding his immaculate white hospital bed. It doesn't look particularly sneaky or evil, but Phil warned me already not to judge by something's appearance only.  
«I'm Dan. »

«I know. » He smiles again. I think he got this habit from his mother.  
«How are you? » I feel so awkward at the moment, but immensely happy at the same time. Some small part of me also feels worried. Protective.  
Phil looks so small, all wrapped up in that bed sheet, like something could just reach up from under the bed and snatch him away from me.  
«I'm sorry. »

It takes me a moment to realize it's his voice and not mine that's breaking the silence. Nonetheless, I don't understand, and this must be obvious from my expression, because he shakes his head a little and starts explaining.  
«I wish we didn't have to meet like this. » And he waves a hand around, towards the tubes, towards the machines, towards the room as whole.  
«And you're apologizing? Are you kidding me? »  
I must admit this whole hospital ordeal does give everything that touch of drama, which I so desperately try to avoid all the time, but still- This is Phil we're talking about. It's not like I'm going anywhere, even if the place is depressing as hell.  
There's a chair next to the bed, but I ignore it and sit on the mattress instead, following some sort of instinct I didn't know I had. It doesn't seem to bother him, though, even though I am, in a way, looming over him to some extent.  
It feels right.  
It's quiet, but it feels so, so right.


	9. Chapter 9

I try to make my visits more frequent, after that first time. Maybe I'm stupid to think about it that way, but it was…Magic. Wait, scratch that, I sound like a thirteen year old girl imagining her first encounter with famous Prince Charming.  
It's not like that, with Phil. He listens. He smiles.  
And sometimes, when I talk, he looks at me like no other person has before.  
We don't talk about his disease, or the fact that he's slowly growing weaker and weaker right in front of me. I hate that I can't do anything, but then I remember that I will.  
I'll save him, I know it, and then I'll take him to all the places he hasn't gone to because of this bloody hospital bed.  
His hair is getting thinner and I can see how much he hates that. It's like it annoys him even more than his actual medical condition.

«Ooh, I remember this hat from one of your letters!» He sits up on the bed, even though I can tell it's getting difficult for him. Maybe it's the chemo. Actually, it definitely is, alongside everything else.  
«It's yours.» I set the furry hat on his head, then sit back and look at him. I'm probably smiling like an idiot, but Phil doesn't seem to care; he's way too happy and grinning back at me and I instantly decide that I'll never forget this moment.  
«You're a lion, see?»  
He can't die. I won't let him.

I'm crying before I can even stop myself.


	10. Chapter 10

«Crying won't change anything.»  
I look up at him and remember the last time I was here. I'd hoped he would just let it slide, pretend it never happened, but I guess it's important to him.  
«I know. Sorry.» I'm apologizing an awful lot lately, when I walk in the room and he's resting, when I see his mother walk out to leave us alone, when I walk back home and I realize that all is lost and the only actual friend I've ever had is dying. Yeah, I'm sorry.  
He shakes his head a little. He's wearing my hat; I doubt he ever takes it off now. At least I did something right.  
«Honestly, it's like I'm already dead to you.»  
I wasn't expecting that. He doesn't pause long enough for me to answer, though. He just does his best to sit up and keeps talking.  
«I could make it, you know. They found a donor for me.»  
He reaches out to grab my hand and I realize he's trying to grip it as tight as he can. That's when I hug him and bury my face against his chest, that's when I breathe in his smell and the chemicals that they're pumping into him, that's when I hear his heart beating for the first time.  
I don't cry. I _can't _cry.

But after a minute I realize that Phil isn't as strong as I am.  
Maybe he just doesn't want to be anymore.

/ Okay, I just wanted to thank you guys for reviewing/following- You have no idea how happy that makes me! c:


	11. Chapter 11

«Dan.»  
I'm sitting on Phil's bed, like I always do. He doesn't mind it, although a few nurses have given me dirty looks before. I don't really care.  
«Yeah.»  
«I'd like to hear you play the piano sometime.»  
«I'm not that good, Phil.» He shoots me the look that means 'Please shut up, Dan' and I do. I shut up and I roll my eyes at him, but after a moment I speak up again.  
«Okay. We can do that.» I smile a little, and he does the same. I'll never get over his smile and how he looks at me. I probably look at him the same way.

«Hey, Dan.»  
«Yeah?»  
«Thank you.»  
«For what?»  
He doesn't answer.

I used to hate hospitals, before meeting Phil. Now it's like it's my home, or something. I'd much rather be here with Phil than outside without him, that's for sure.  
The operation is tomorrow and I still can't bring myself to tell him about it- He doesn't need to know, he just has to do his best and survive.  
I feel like it would be selfish to tell him something like 'Don't leave me,' or 'Do it for me,' or 'Dammit, Phil, you can't just die on me, okay?'  
Everything is going to be fine.


	12. Chapter 12

_| WOAH okay guys sorry for the delay- anyway, next chapter's the last, enjoy! c:_

«It'll be a while before I come back.» I say it softly. Maybe I don't want him to hear me, or maybe _I _don't want to hear myself.  
He shifts a little, reaching over to the table next to his bed and then hands me the envelope he grabbed. He doesn't say anything, but I know I have to read it when I leave; it's the beginning all over again and I can't decide if I like it or I hate it.  
«It's okay.» He smiles and settles back down on the bed and I realize that I forgot to bring my keyboard with me and all of a sudden I feel terrible about it.  
«You should come over to my place when you get out of here.» _Then I can play the piano for you, okay?  
_«Okay.» He looks happy and that makes me happy as well.

I hug him, before I leave, then walk over to the door. I can't bring myself to reach out for the handle, though, nor can I take another step towards it.  
Then I stop thinking. I shut my brain off, walk over to Phil's bed and lean down over him.  
«I love you.» It's all I say. I'll never know what his reaction is, since I'm out of the room a moment later, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my heart beating like it's the end of the world. Maybe it is.

I read his letter and hate it. It sounds like goodbye.


	13. Chapter 13

||_ Last chapter! I hope you like it and I'd just like to thank you all for your reviews and favorites and follows- You have no idea how happy that made me! Anyway, special thanks goes to Meg (it was her idea in the first place) and EnduringDarkness ('cause her reviews are the best). Nothing more to say. Enjoy! _

It's fine, really. When you're unconscious it doesn't seem so bad to have surgeons sticking enormous syringes into your bones and sucking out the marrow.  
What's not fine is that I can't see Phil.  
That he's alone and that I'm the only one that can save him.  
That I'm stuck in a hospital bed on the other side of the building and I just want to talk to him, God, just let me _talk_ to him, for Christ's sake.  
I guess this is what he feels like, unable to leave, helpless. Now I understand what he meant when he said that hospital beds are like sneaky agents of evil. It's as if they just eat you alive.  
My parents are with me, though. They take turns just sitting in my room to make me feel less lonely, until I get mad and kick them out. I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood for people just standing around.

Finally, finally, finally, I can get out of bed. I can stand up, get dressed, run down the hospital corridors until I get to Phil's room and his mother isn't there, why isn't she there?  
She must be inside, I decide, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door.  
Nothing.  
Just give them some time, Dan.  
They probably didn't hear you, Dan.  
Try again.  
They're just sleeping.  
Okay, that makes sense. Sleeping. Maybe I should leave them alone, maybe I shouldn't disturb them.  
I push the door open and I see Phil, I see him smiling and the furry lion hat is on his head, it doesn't even look like a lion, but whatever. Only, Phil isn't there.  
The sheets are folded and the bed is white and empty and I don't know how I'll survive.  
It can't be. Somehow, I leave the room and I grab the sleeve of a random nurse who's just walking by. «Phil should be in there.» I tell her, but it doesn't sound like my voice at all. It sounds desperate and lost and verging on maniacal. «He should be in there.» This time I'm louder, just in case she didn't hear me the first time.  
«I'm sorry.» She says, and it's comical, really, how it's not me saying it for once. «I'm really sorry, but he passed aw-»

I can't listen to this.  
I can't believe he's d-  
I can't believe he's  
I can't believe it.

The room is white and empty and I don't know how I'll survive. Just walking in hurts me, but I force myself to do it anyway. One step at a time, slowly, slowly.  
I can't believe he never heard me play the piano.  
The bed is empty and white and I don't know how I'll survive.  
There's no tubes, no machinery, nothing. I blink and I can see him. I blink again, and I cannot.  
He's saying «_I'm sorry,_»and I'm here thinking 'How _dare_ you, how _dare _you leave me'.  
I'm curled up on his bed and I don't know how I got there. I'm crying into his pillow, but it doesn't smell like him and that only makes everything worse.  
The room is empty and I am as well.  
Then I see it- It's a piece of paper, like the ones he used for my letters. I'm reaching out for it and I pull it towards my curled up body, holding it close before I unfold it.  
At first, it looks blank to me; then I notice the writing. It's shaky, but it's Phil's and that makes it perfect.  
I'm crying again before I know it, tears are falling on the paper, staining its perfect whiteness, its creases from where Phil folded it neatly in four, even though it must've been so hard for him.  
I remember his letter and I remember how he wrote 'Dan, he hardest part of this is leaving you' and then, in smaller lettering 'like the song,' and 'don't forget me'. It hurts and it burns and it leaves me hollow, but what am I supposed to do?  
I just want to lay here, curled up on his bed, and never leave. I clutch the paper to my chest and the tears cease, because I understand. It's clear, like his writing, like his voice, like everything about him, and I read those three words again, aloud this time.

_I love you too, Dan._

Phil wants me to survive, because he couldn't.


End file.
